


won't you stay awhile

by kissmeinnewyork



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Pointless fluff, Shaving, i love them, the idea of this is hot ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 19:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19216000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmeinnewyork/pseuds/kissmeinnewyork
Summary: “Can I trust you with a blade that close to my face?” he asks teasingly, and there is a mischievous glint in her eyes.“If you like,” she shrugs, “But where’s the fun in that?”





	won't you stay awhile

**Author's Note:**

> absolutely utterly pointless fluff but enjoy xx  
> kudos and comments appreciated

He notices the morning after a challenging op. Spending almost two weeks hiding out in Europe doesn’t leave much time—or need—for personal upkeep so when he looks in the bathroom mirror, noticeably gaunt and tired-looking, his eyes gravitate towards his facial hair. It’s at that awkward stage, all scratchy and unkempt. He runs his hand over it, how rough it feels on his calloused fingers. He doesn’t even want to _think_ how horrible it must feel against Nat’s skin.

Nat’s hands loop round his waist and she stands on her toes to reach his shoulder, resting her chin there. She’s wearing one of his t shirts, loose and baggy on her tiny frame. She’d not been in Europe, taking care of some loose ends in New York, but she’d returned the moment they’d touched down. Even two weeks is too long without her presence, and he wonders when it got to _that._

“It’s rugged,” she remarks, “Chicks dig that.”

He snorts and he can feel her smile against his cheek, a sunrise. “It’s horrible, is what it is.”

She laughs in that low and sultry way of hers, so completely and deliciously _Nat._ “Yeah, you’re right. Makes hot reunion sex more uncomfortable than I’d like.”

“Oh, we can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t,” she agrees, running a hand across his shoulder. Steve leans down and removes his razor (a blade, pure and simple, because he’s allowed to be old fashioned about some things) from the cupboard beneath the sink, but Natasha’s hand closes gently round his wrist. “May I?”

Steve blinks slowly, then smiles, bemused. “You want to?”

“I do,” she says, and Steve simply hands the apparatus over, watching as she fills a bowl with warm water. He sinks to the tiled floor and after a moment she copies, sinking down in front of him. He remains still as she applies cream to his face, with an ease and dexterity of a woman who knows what she’s doing. She knows a lot of things, Natasha. She knows more than she will ever tell.

“Can I trust you with a blade that close to my face?” he asks teasingly, and there is a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“If you like,” she shrugs, “But where’s the fun in that?”

Her movements are fluent and elegant, like there’s an art to it, like her footsteps and the beautifully easy way she can tackle men double her weight to the ground. She is careful, and precise, and her fingers dart in exactly the right way to avoid cutting his skin. He fights every instinct he has to lean in closer—it’s only natural when they’re barely centimetres apart, reminding him of the first time. When his heart was racing like a motorcar engine and he wondered if this was _it,_ this was _something._ When there was silence as they both tried to confirm what the fuck was going on.

Her lips curl into a smirk. “With the look on your face, Rogers, I hope you’re thinking about me.”

“I’m always thinking about you.”

(It’s instinct, a reflex. His first thought is Natasha Romanoff and his last thought is Natasha Romanoff and all the thoughts in between are Natasha Romanoff, too. He can see it in her eyes, the way her sharp edges soften into curves, that it is not often someone has said that to her and meant it.)

She gently finishes her masterpiece with the washcloth and when his hands reach out to find smoothness, he feels a little more like himself. She leans in, pressing a few kisses to either side of his face before deciding on the lips, long and slow and decadent.

“Mmm,” she hums, running her tongue over her teeth, “Yeah, that’s a lot better.”

What’s _really_ a lot better is having her right here in front of him instead of thousands of miles away, and the sight of her sitting there blinking back at him is just…enough. It’s _enough._

**Author's Note:**

> i actually........have more of these domestic oneshots.........give me a shout if u want them


End file.
